Killed It
by NeoNails
Summary: AU. 'She was not a Hero. She was not a Citizen, either. It scares Will. He's not the only one that fears her. "Are you done?" he asks with a glare, and she has to smile. Everyone fears her. Except him.'


Sorry I've been gone so long!!!

This is like uber-long, and while not _technically_ what I define as M-rated fanfiction, I'm willing to err on the side of caution just to placate those poor little kiddies out there (ah, fuck, I'm one of them- I just talk like a 30-year-old and curse like a trucker ;D). So this is M-rated for a combination of 'sexual imagery' (and the 15-year-old boy in me _still_ snickers at that phrase) and cursing.

Aren't I classy?

Oh, and for the record, it's totally not my fault that I randomly find myself going through ridiculously dark, angsty moods when it comes to writing. I blame it on other people who are naturally talented angst writers, and then my bitch of a muse bites me in the ass and decides I have to write something similar in retaliation, just to see if I can manage it.

As to whether or not I've successfully managed this level of Dark, well… remains to be seen.

$4$

_Got a criminal record  
__I can't cross state lines  
__First on a bad list  
__And you're last on mine_

- "Where Do I Hide," by Nickelback

**

* * *

**

She is no longer the peaceful Mother Nature everyone expected her to become.

Time changes things, so what once started out as a sweet and innocent teenager has turned into a woman with hardened eyes and a full figure. She was supposed to save the world, stop evil-doing villains eco-terrorists and save innocent bystanders and the rainforest, all at the same time.

That was a lifetime ago.

Now…

She was not a Hero. She was not a Citizen, either.

She is not a cold-blooded serial killer, but she crossed the line of 'everyday Villain' a long, long time ago.

It still scares Will, which is why he never fought her. Tons of other Heroes have attempted over the years, but never Will. He's ashamed of himself, ashamed his once best friend and girlfriend has morphed into this _thing_, this heartless _monster_. But it's also more than that. So much more.

He's terrified of her.

He's not the only one that fears her, fears what she's become, fears what she can and has accomplished. There are many people on this planet that know of the havoc she's wreaked.

She doesn't enjoy killing, really. She just doesn't like it when things (people) get in her way. She doesn't enjoy murder and carnage, blood and destruction. None of this excites her, or makes her feel any more powerful.

No, it's the fear.

She gets off on the fear of other people. It's a heady thought, seeing others run away from her in fear and terror. She doesn't need death. She just needs that look, that panic that runs across their eyes as they catch sight of her, always freezing for just a moment before running in the opposite direction.

She could live off that. She intends to, actually, provided she isn't captured by some asinine but well-meaning organization like the JLU or the Maxville Squad. They're laughable groups, and she doesn't want to have to kill fellow Heroes and Sidekicks unless they force her.

For the moment, she's content where she is, in a tiny hole-in-the-wall apartment, with a cat, oddly enough, and sparse furniture. She hasn't robbed or exploded anything in months, and after 8 years she's a master of staying under the radar, so it's not like she expects them to find her, especially masquerading as a mild bookkeeper under the name Gwen Tenny.

She finds a certain level of humor in adopting this name, almost a reminder that she is not fully evil and still remembers her past and the girl that once thought she could save the world with the help of her trusty best friend.

Naïveté couldn't get more beautiful, really. It was almost a shame she had to realize how much she hated it.

She's sitting in her worn chair, coffee cup leisurely in hand while the newspaper rested on her bite-sized table, reading glasses affixed to the bridge of her nose and curly hair piled atop her head. She thinks she's grown into adulthood well, even if some people believe she's squandered her potential on (far better) things.

There's the almost imperceptible sound of her living room window sliding open, but her eyes never once waver from the newspaper in front of her. Which isn't to say she's actually _reading_ the article (because, once you've read about one child rapist you really have read them all), but instead waiting. Waiting for him to cross the tiny room in only a few short steps. Waiting for him to speak.

After 12 years, the one thing she's learned to rely on is marvelous way with words.

"Are you done yet?"

She glances up then, a serene smile forming on her face. It's one she's learned to perfect over the years, perfectly calm and perfectly reminiscent of their past, and she knows how effectively it pisses him off, so she likes to take every opportunity possible to throw it in his face.

Staring at him, in his full costume and armor, always is an off-putting sight. Like her, he changed, morphing into a person no one expected. No one but her truly thought he would turn Hero, not even Will. It's something that she knows secretly gets under his skin, but it's also the one thing she'll never use against him. She's not a complete bitch.

Most of the time.

"No pleasant hellos for an old friend?" she said, her innocent smile slowly morphing into something more natural, more feline and sinister. "That's surprisingly rude for such an honest and law-abiding citizen such as yourself."

She enjoys pissing him off, it's yet another art she's perfected over the years. She knows exactly which buttons to push, and when. If he's in the right mood, he knows which of her buttons to push back, but he's rarely in that particular vindictive mood. Most of the time he just stays stoically silent and glares.

"Are you done?" he repeats, though there's a new undercurrent of annoyance and tension tingeing his voice, along with this smoldering look that's all too familiar to her. He hates it when she screws with him, because he thinks it's unnecessary or some shit. She doesn't really like to pay attention when he's in one of his ranting 'Why do you act like this?' moods.

She grins wider, slowly standing up. She's in a white button-down too big for her and her favorite pair of jeans, and when he finally takes notice of the button-down, half unbuttoned and revealing a white cami, she's pretty sure she sees the fire burning in his eyes just a little brighter.

It's his shirt.

**

* * *

**

It's in those moments after, when she wakes up and realizes he's perched on the edge of the bed, head down, strong shoulders drooping, when she does the most damage to him.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and molds herself to his back, tossing her long hair so it tumbles over his chest and breathes into his ear. "Have they figured out about me yet?" she whispers, smiling a little wider as she feels the muscles clench under his skin. "This has been going on for years now- they must know about what you _do_ in your spare time by _now_."

He says nothing but his head straightens and up and she knows her words are squarely hitting home. "Your girlfriend _must_ have figured it out by now," she continues, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. "Especially when you come home on nights like these, smelling like honeysuckle and sex."

He stands up, walking towards the window, and she lets him, grinning. She doesn't do it often, but she likes to use his guilt against him every once so often.

"I'm not one of your victims," he says over his shoulder, pulling on his boxers. "You can't just play with me when you're bored. I know how you work."

She laughs at that, the sound soft and breathy as she leans over the bed, grabbing a hair clip and pulling her hair back. "We both know I only bother because it always succeeds in getting you angry," she says. "When you're done being _sensitive_ I'll stop teasing you as much."

He's silent for a long moment, leaning against the wall. "No, you won't."

She grins. He really _does_ know her.

**

* * *

**

Every couple of months, she gets invited to some gala or benefit or opening or other bullshit, always under her real name. Usually it's hosted by some villain, like the Endangered Feline Charity or Wilson Fisk's annual shindig. She never bothers attending them, mostly because she has no desire to rub shoulders with a bunch of Villains who believe they can pass themselves off as 'high society.'

But once in a blue moon she gets an invitation to somewhere _interesting_. Maybe they think she's still somewhat good, maybe they've forgotten she's no longer Will's former fiancé, maybe they're just hoping for a good dose of drama- regardless, she's received an invitation to the annual Fireman's Ball, and she's absolutely amused.

And absolutely going.

**

* * *

**

She crosses the room, a flute of champagne firmly in hand as she hears the whispers all around her, shocked stares and opened mouths following her.

_This_ is the way to make an entrance.

Will's here with his wife, along with the mayor, the police commissioner, and a slew of fire marshals. But they're secondary characters- Warren is here, too.

And so is his girlfriend.

She's a beautiful little thing, all willowy and lean with honeyed skin and blue eyes and blonde hair. Her hair is down and she's in some gorgeous cream toga-type dress and she looks positively angelic.

It makes this moment almost _too_ perfect.

Will is the first one of the little group to spot her, and when he does he stops midsentence and just stares. His wife does the same, only her stare is more along the lines of a glare, brown eyes narrowing sharply as she pushes a lock of equally brown hair out of her face. She's pretty, in a plain way, but her resemblance to a former 'classmate' of theirs is almost too hilarious to point out.

Layla grins, taking a sip from her glass. "Long time no see," she says, eyes flitting from face to face before finally settling on Warren. He's the only one that doesn't look angry or out-and-out terrified. She's always respected him for that, even if she never told him.

"Don't think you can get away with anything," the commissioner warns. "The people here that aren't cops or firefighters are Heroes."

She smiles a little wider and briefly considers calling Will's wife out as an obvious Citizen before she pushes it aside. Messing with Will was like shooting fish in a barrel- boring and beneath her.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about, Commissioner," she says, never losing the smile but widening her eyes to adopt a look of _almost_ innocence. "I was invited here, just like you, and I intend on drinking some quality booze and having a good time." She glances over at Warren and winks, noting the shock on his sweet's girlfriend's face.

Will clears his throat and puts on his 'happy' smile, but he's so bad at lying it's closer to a grimace. "It's good to see you again, Layla," he says, nodding once. The awkwardness flows from him like a second skin, and after a decade of manipulating people, she couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little.

"It's great to see you, too," she says, letting her brown eyes soften and tilts her head as her gaze settles on his wife. "I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive me- I never learned your name."

His wife purses her lips, leaning closer to her husband as she answers, "My name is Susan."

Layla can't stop the laugh that spills from her lips. "You have to be fucking with me," she says, eyes flying to Will, who has turned a revealing shade of umber in response. Susan looks shocked, but the marshals and even the commissioner are chuckling behind their drinks. They all know about Will's past, and the irony isn't lost on them, either.

Warren is smirking, looking away so he doesn't laugh as well, and it's his reaction that makes her turn back to Will and grin slyly. "That's awfully coincidental," she drawls, drinking from her glass. Thank God she decided to attend this shindig. This was just too good to miss.

"What- what is she talking about, Will?" Susan asks, eyes narrowing to slits as she stares at her husband suspiciously.

Will just opens and closes his mouth like a dying fish, completely flabbergasted. Susan may not understand the implications, but she certainly seems to grasp the fact that her name coincides with some not-so-glorious moment in his life because one second she's glaring and the next she's spinning on her heel and storming away. He practically breaks his neck in order to sprint after her, and for a second Layla wonders wryly if she was some kind of speed Super.

"It's not right to play with your food like that."

Her brown eyes light on Warren, and she gives him her best crazed grin, the one that she knows he loves so much for some odd reason. He gets that she thrives off of chaos of other people, watching their lives crumble before their eyes and it never fails to make her want to laugh. Sure, she's fucked up, but it's not like she cares. This is her element, and she's not going to stop just because some assholes claim she's 'evil'.

And even if she does fall under that title, well… that's not her problem.

"I'd hardly call this playing with my food," she says, never breaking eye contact with him as she polishes off the rest of her champagne. "It's not _my_ fault he chose to marry a woman that looks uncannily like Gwen Grayson, and it's _definitely_ not my fault that this woman's name happens to be Susan. How was I supposed to know?"

He sends her a reproachful glare like she somehow knew Susan's name (honestly, she didn't), and she continues to give him her best crazed grin, proud of his expression and the havoc she's managed to wreak without even holding anyone hostage or breaking anything.

Warren's little girlfriend is staring at them, big blue eyes going from Layla to Warren and back again, trying to solve a puzzle that's all too obvious to everyone around her.

She chuckles, staring at the blonde and shaking her head. Her hair is piled up and messy, some tendrils falling around her face and highlighting her smoky brown eyes. She's played off the cool and collected look well, looking like a knockout in a simple low-cut black dress and strappy heels.

If Warren's girlfriend is the angel, she can only guess what role she's been cast.

"I think I've caused enough trouble for tonight," she says finally, and she has to hold back a laugh as she watches the commissioner breathe a sigh of obvious relief.

She doesn't leave, like she knows everyone wants her to- instead, she migrates around the room for a few hours, smiling and making casual small talk and causing friction and fear wherever she goes. It's more fun this way.

**

* * *

**

He slams her into the corner just as she's about to leave the stupid party and she thinks that this made it all worth it.

Sex with him has always been great, but it's ten times better when they're angry and fighting for dominance. Well, she's almost always angry (it doesn't take much), but when she can succeed in making him mad it always leads to mind-blowing sex.

This time, she can tell, will be no different.

Granted, him deciding that he wants her, _here_, in this tiny, darkly lit hallway right outside the bathroom is more than a little surprising. She's always down for a good romp with him, but she has to admit this is a little exhibitionist for him.

"Why'd you have to pick on Jen?" he asks, hot breath fanning on her exposed neck as he hauls her up against him, effectively pinning her against the wall. God, she loves it when he gets violent…

"I didn't pick on her," she said, obediently wrapping her legs around his waist as he pushes her further up the wall so they're eye-level. "In fact, I don't remember saying a word to her. We are talking about your angelic little girlfriend, right?"

He growls and bites down on her neck a little too hard. "It wasn't necessary, Layla."

She laughs, but she's so out of breath it catches quickly and she just left tilting her head back, giving him more access to exposed skin. Damn, he's good. "I left your precious girlfriend alone," she says, panting. "In fact, I'm pretty sure the only major damage I accomplished was to Will."

He growls, low and thundering, and she recognizes the warning. For some reason, mentioning Will's name when they're together always makes Warren even angrier. She's not precisely sure why, but she has her suspicions.

She laughs again, her hips grinding into his. "I'm sorry," she whispers, a smile snaking up her features. "I forgot how _touchy_ you get when I mention a guy I used to _fuck_."

There's another guttural sound from the back of his throat and then he's pulling back just enough to rip her panties off of her and slide inside and she can't for the life of her stop laughing.

It's only after, when they're both spent and she's tugging her skirt down and debating whether or not to bother hiding the hickey that she glances over at him. He looks a hell of a lot more composed than her, but she still recognizes the tell-tale glaze in his eyes and his slightly rumpled hair.

"Y'know, I suppose I should mention at this point that sex with Will never even compares," she says, teeth grinding together slightly as she leans over and adjusts his tie. "He was never really good at making sure I finished along with him." She winks, and saunters away, hips swinging to a familiar beat.

_Baby did a bad, bad thing…_

**

* * *

**

It all comes crashing down less than a week later.

She hears through the grapevine ('cuz Villains love to gossip just as much as Heroes) that Jenny, Warren's little girlfriend, has finally dumped his ass after some big blowup where she accused him of sleeping around "with that Villainess bitch." Yeah, took three guesses as to who _that_ was…

After that, it was like the dam broke. Will was kicked out of his house for the weekend after he finally told Susan about his old girlfriend in high school (apparently, not all imitation is considered flattery), and then Warren's father was hospitalized. He was a monster, true, evil in ways even Layla could never begin to fathom, but he was still Warren's father.

She wasn't surprised when he burst through her window two nights after, soaked and breathing heavily.

It had been a downpour all night, so him wet wasn't exactly surprising. She stood up slowly, eyeing his appearance. He's got on jeans for once, nice ones, too, not those ugly ratty things with the holes and the burns that he's had since freshman year of high school. He's got on a button-down, too, black, but the top three buttons are undone and she can see a peek of his white undershirt just below his tanned, strong neck.

If the situation was different, she'd make a crack about dress-down Fridays, but his face was haunting and for once she was at a loss for words. He looked like he did back in high school, angry and resentful but that little boy who wished his Daddy had never been taken away from him.

Well, fuck.

He stumbled forward, pulling her into his arms. Her skin immediately smarted when the cold hit her skin, but there was no way she could pull away at this point. She realized a little belatedly that the water on his face wasn't _just_ water, and something in her chest flipped up and back over again, churning and churning as she clutched his broad shoulders.

She had to shut her eyes. She didn't need this… Hell, he didn't need this, but she didn't need this for a different reason, her reaction to seeing his hurt and pain sneaking up on her like a slap in the face.

He died. She didn't ask, she didn't say anything at all. She just knew, the same way she knew he drank his coffee black with two sugars and watched _Criminal Minds_ reruns at 3 a.m. when he couldn't fall asleep.

Goddammit. She wished she didn't know all this shit with that much certainty.

Warren did not grieve the same way most people did- it was one of those things that she not only intuitively understood, but completely respected. It's not like she grieves the way most people do- when her mother died she responded by covering her entire apartment (a different one, back when she was living in Jersey) with plants and then spending 16 hours in the gym.

She might as well have invented the definition of 'dysfunction.'

He was kissing her, not the way they normally kissed. Softly, lips slipping over lips, gently coaxing a reaction out of her. This isn't how they react. There's never this gentleness, him cradling her head in his hands, working his fingers through the messy auburn curls, making her _taste_ the love in his embrace.

It makes her want to vomit.

But she doesn't pull away.

**

* * *

**

She's stretched out on her bed, sheets twisted and still somewhat damp from their earlier activities, and she glances over at him. He's asleep, finally peaceful, and she can't stop a soft smile from ghosting across her features.

Damn.

He really had to go and ruin it. He _had _to break the exciting cycle of fighting and fucking, and go and make love to her. They weren't supposed to have a real, serious relationship. This wasn't real- Heroes didn't go and fall for Villains. Granted, his parents were an obvious exception, but Baron started out as a Hero.

Fuck. That didn't work. She started out as a Hero, too.

Okay, she needed to think about something different. Drawing parallels at this point would result in her completely losing her mind.

She wanted more than anything to take control of one of her potted plants and strangle the life out of him for making her feel real emotion again. At the same time, she also wanted to pull him close and stop being a Villain just so she could marry him and have 2.5 kids and the picket fence…

She couldn't do either one. She was stuck, trapped in bed with him until her thin resolve finally snapped and she did something drastic.

She couldn't love him. She couldn't hate him.

She had to leave.

Layla sat up, throwing the sheets off her naked body and walking to her closet. The overnight bag was in there, and she tossed some clothes in the bag along with two pairs of shoes and underwear.

She had wad of hundreds stashed under the sink, and she quickly retrieved them, tossing them in the duffel bag along with some toiletries and razors. She pulled on some civilian clothes, a cotton t-shirt and ripped jeans, along with boots and a heavy military jacket.

Her purse was last when everything was packed, and she rifled through her wallet, grabbing the appropriate cards. She kept her bank card but tossed everything else on the bed. She'd empty out her bank account, transfer the funds to her untraceable offshore account, and then trash the last card.

Damn. She kinda liked being Gwen Tenny.

$4$

Well, what the hell. I guess me and Evil!Layla are on good terms, 'cuz I gotta admit I kinda liked the crazy bitch. Though I also just like writing evil characters in general, she was a special kind of fun 'cuz I've been working through that 'ballroom scene' in my head for weeks now, trying to look for a good fandom/fic to put it in.

What do you guys think of her? I'm not sure how I did with everybody else, and I guess everything's pretty OOC, but I'm trying to placate myself by admitting that this _is_ AU and therefore isn't my greatest concern. P:


End file.
